The Sun King and the Sorceress (The Legend of Graymyrh Book 3)

by E. V. Greig

  Little Javia skipped up to him then and hugged his leg. She laughed and pointed. “Spider!”

  “Yes, that’s right: we’re looking for a big spider,” Alyrra followed the child over to where Hugo was standing. “But you mustn’t trouble the general, Javia: he’s very busy.” She bent and picked up the child, turning to smile at Hugo as she did so. The spider reared onto its hind legs and sprang forwards: attracted by the movement before it. Hugo hurled himself at Alyrra and Javia. He slammed into them and knocked them flat beneath his weight as the spider passed over them all and landed next to the horses. Alyrra screamed, and Javia grumbled.

  Hugo rolled to his feet and ran at the monstrous arachnid. “Let them be, damn you!” He swung Daemonslayer at the spider’s hind legs. It was faster than he had anticipated. His blade passed through empty air and suddenly the spider was scuttling away from them. “Damn it all, somebody stop that spider!”

  ∞∞∞

  The sylvanthi sentries sneered openly at the contingent from Briersburge. “Have you brought our king one of your females as tribute? Or is she meant for all of us?” One of them reached forward to caress Naomi’s face.

  Misericord was instantly between them: a cold iron stiletto in his hand. “I am but a bodyguard. The Lady Naomi shall speak to your sovereign.”

  “What became of the par’anth?” Another sentry was curious.

  “Luath is unable to continue acting as my messenger. He returned to Briersburge injured and is resting. As the mistress of the keep, I cannot in good conscience endanger any more of my followers, and therefore in accordance with Alnaiean custom – which does apply within this region, by your own king’s acknowledgement - I have brought the terms myself.” Naomi smiled as the sentries dissected her statement. “That means that I know what was done to Luath, I am extremely angry about it, and I intend to castrate the one who was responsible, by the way. I suggest that you advise your king of our arrival now.”

  “Your female would dare to threaten a general of Sylvangarde?” The sentries gazed down at Naomi in a mixture of shock and amused respect. “That shall not end well for her, skree’akh! You ought to keep her in better check, lest her madness should be observed.”

  Naomi handed Misericord the treaty. “Misericord, be a dear and deliver this for me, please. It appears that I need to teach these fellows a lesson in equality!”

  “As my Lady commands me, so shall I convey these precious papers of peace!” The witchfinder was gone before any of the sentries could even blink.

  Naomi continued, her voice now eerily soft. “Now then: which of you is smart enough to name the one responsible for the harm done to my messenger?” I have his face clear in my mind, but not his name.

  “I suspect that you mean Lord Veyrich.” The first of the sentries circled behind her. “But you would not thank us were we to take you to him, mad one.” He reached down once again and touched her face, his long fingers tracing her cheekbones. “We, at least, shall be gentle with you.”

  “Indeed!” The second caught her hand and sniffed at her palm. “Intoxicating creatures, these skree’akh – so very pungent!”

  “They are delicate too.” The third sentry cupped his hands about Naomi’s waist and lifted her back towards him. Then he howled and dropped her.

  His companions turned to stare at him. “What has happened to you?”

  “My hands are burning – as though I had grasped cold iron!” The unfortunate sentry whimpered and held out his palms for his fellows to examine. The skin was already raw and oozing green blood. “How has this happened to me – what fell sylth did that skree’akh whore employ against me?”

  Another of the sentries caught at Naomi’s arm instead. He too screamed and leapt away from the Alnaiean. “She cannot be touched! It must be sylth!”

  The sentries backed away from her then: whispering amongst themselves about witchcraft. Naomi merely smiled serenely at them and stalked off with Spellsnitcher in search of Lord Veyrich.

  ∞∞∞

  Hugo had not slept in three nights now. Ever since the giant spider had almost taken Alyrra and Javia as its latest meal, the mercenary had become a man obsessed. It wasn’t healthy, his companions had decided. This was why they were staging an intervention at the local tavern. Having lured Hugo indoors with the promise of debating the finer points of the strategy behind hunting gigantic spiders, the disparate band of wanderers set to work plying their leader with as much strong drink as they could afford. It took a while, but eventually he slumped unconscious from his chair and was unable to resist as Tharl and Alyrra helped him off to bed upstairs in a room that they had hired for the purpose.

  Squeaky scowled when he saw Tharl return alone to their table. “Here now: I hope Alyrra isn’t trying to have her way with the boss whilst he’s asleep!”

  Tharl grinned at him. “Maybe she is at that, Squeaky – what of it? He could use the comfort of a woman!”

  Ruiryk looked up from where he was holding Banor’s head out of a puddle of his own vomit. “Maybe you want to be the one who explains that to Kaiwan then? She’s waiting back at Briersburge for him to return!”

  “Who is Kaiwan?” Marwyn dipped a chunk of bread into his soup. “The name sounds Ullensian.”

  “She – we grew up together. I don’t want her getting hurt just because Alyrra fancies a quick tumble!”

  Squeaky was already on his feet. “Don’t worry, Ruiryk. I’ll go and sit with the boss whilst he sleeps. I’ll send Alyrra back downstairs to join the rest of you.”

  ∞∞∞

  Naomi slipped through the sylvanthi encampment as though a mere shadow herself. Spellsnitcher bounded beside her. His green eyes glowed. “Thy trick worked well, cousin.”

  “Did you like it, Spellsnitcher? I call it my carapace of cold iron.”

  He sneezed on some evening pollen then. “Thou hast been rolling in cold iron shavings, hast thou not?”

  “Well, yes, basically that. But the sylvanthir don’t need to know that the solution is so very mundane!” She paused then. “Perhaps I ought not to have sent Misericord off alone. Cousin – might you go and find him for me please? I fear for his well-being amongst these uncouth giants!”

  “In truth I fear for thee, cousin, but very well. I shalt find thy masked suitor and keep him safe for thee.”

  “Thank you, cousin. I shall continue my hunt for this Lord Veyrich.” Naomi darted between another row of tents. She smelt wine and incense, and her ears rang with the constant murmuring of those within the tents. Some sighed in pleasure, whilst others moaned in pain, or whimpered in fear. Why does no one intervene to help those who cry out?

  A gloved hand gripped her throat then and she gasped as she was lifted bodily and dragged into one of the tents. “Well now: and what are you about, my pet?” Her attacker tossed her onto the blanketed floor of his tent. He towered over her: with long black hair and cold black eyes. She knew him at once from Luath’s memory. To judge by his dark enamelled plate and purple cloak, he was indeed a general. “Whose slave are you that you wander the encampment so freely?”

  “I am no slave!” Naomi leapt to her feet. I wonder if you really are named Veyrich.

  The sylvanth knocked her back down and kicked her hard in the ribs. She felt bone snap and yelped despite herself. “Nonsense! What else would you be doing here? Anyhow, it is no matter now who your last master may have been, for you are mine now. I rather like the look of you: take off your clothing so that I may see more.” He kicked her again: the same spot, sneering at her attempt to dodge him. “I told you to strip, you skree’akh whore!”

  She drew her dagger then and staggered upright. “Not going to happen.”

  “You dare to refuse my will? I am a general of Sylvangarde – one of the king’s elite guard at that! No one refuses me: do you grasp that, skree’akh?”

  “And I am Lady Naomi Du’Valle: the Mistress of Briersburge Keep! These are my lands, and your king has agreed to peace between our peoples. So I sugg
est that you step back now, general, and keep out of my way whilst I locate the one who dared to brutalise my messenger!”

  “Messenger...oh, do you mean that shy par’anth that I dallied with yesterday? He was most enjoyable. I thank you for sending him to me, Lady Naomi.” The elite sneered at her openly then. “Yes, little skree’akh: you have found who you seek! I am Lord Veyrich Balefenwal – second in authority only to King Gilvaneous himself. I had every right to do as I wished with your messenger, just as I now have every right to do as I wish with you!”

  Naomi sprang nimbly aside as he grabbed for her. “I remain confident that your king shall disagree with you: rape is a serious crime!”

  “On the contrary: it is the right of those who are strong to take whomever they choose to!” His long fingers just missed catching her by the hair then. “You are a swift little creature and no mistake, skree’akh!”

  “Your self-indulgent atrocities have clearly made you lax!” Her dagger sang as it whipped across his high cheekbones: leaving a thin line of green blood across the bridge of his nose.

  Veyrich hissed. “I look forward to using that blade on your own weak flesh!” Whipping off his long cloak, he tossed it over her and grappled her to the floor once again, pinning her there facedown beneath his weight as he forced the dagger from her hand. “You will beg to be permitted to die, skree’akh, but I shall keep you breathing long enough for you to forget what a life without pain ever was before I even consider granting you such a mercy as death!” Jamming the dagger into his belt, he pulled a length of fine cord from beneath the mattress of his bedroll and set to work securing his prize: stripping off her scarlet gown as he went along.

  Naomi squirmed beneath the cloak, cursing as she was bound hand and foot. “You won’t get away with this, Veyrich!”

  “And who will stop me, little skree’akh?” The sylvanth finished binding her then, and pulled his cloak away to study her. He toyed with the lacing on her shift, slowly unfastening her final layers of clothing and setting them aside one at a time until his prisoner lay utterly naked.

  “I fully intend to kill you myself.” I shall hand you just enough rope and smile as you do the rest for me.

  He laughed and pulled off his gloves, revealing pallid hands: the veins dark and unhealthy looking. His fingernails were long and sharp. “I am going to enjoy destroying that fiery spirit, skree’akh! I wonder now – where to begin with you?”

  The Alnaiean spymistress pretended to be fighting back the urge to scream as he slowly traced his nails over her face and neck: lightly opening up her skin just deeply enough to draw blood. “You shall never break me!”

  Chapter Six

  Frelth tensed at his master’s side and stared intently into the near dark of the encampment. His long ears twitched nervously. The king glanced down at him and then followed his gaze. “Well now, my brave generals. It would appear that I have a guest.” Gilvaneous nodded for the black clad messenger to approach him. The masked figure rose from his knees and stepped forwards to the foot of the dais on which the king was seated. Loyal Frelth had been the only one to notice the stranger’s arrival. “So: the humans have sent a fresh messenger then. And do you bring your leader’s terms of allegiance to me, messenger?”

  The messenger bowed. “I am Misericord: I serve the Lady of Briersburge. She has acknowledged her acceptance of your offer of an alliance and as such sends me hither to make deliverance of this document.” He held out the treaty in one gloved hand.

  At Gilvaneous’ nod, Frelth padded forward and accepted the document. The feranth carried the parchment back and knelt beside his master. Gilvaneous smiled and caressed his slave’s ears briefly before accepting the treaty. He read it carefully, then nodded and placed his own seal upon it also. “Very well then: let it hereby be known that the sylvanthir and the Alnaieans are now allies!”

  Around them, the sylvanthir bowed as one: still clearly irked at the fact that this mere skree’akh had been able to slip past them all unnoticed. Misericord merely tilted his head a little to either side as if listening for some faint sound that did not come. “Alas, I must away: my Lady may be in need of me, my Lord.”

  Gilvaneous gestured vaguely for him to depart as he chose. “What an intriguing slave this Mistress of Briersburge keeps as her messenger. And how unobservant my own generals have become – why, were it not for loyal Frelth, I should expect to be assassinated!” He glared at the six sylvanthi generals who happened to be nearest to the dais. “Utterly unacceptable – you are all fortunate to merely be banished from my presence! Go back to Sylvangarde at once and make yourselves useful again somehow.”

  ∞∞∞

  Korius spun as he heard the scream. A female, certainly, and coming from Lord Veyrich’s tent. “Vesqua take you, Veyrich, but you are an evil one, and no mistake!” He walked on to his own tent. Behind him, the screaming continued: growing even louder. Korius closed his ears to it and poured out a measure of strong Talaskan wine.

  Aren’t you going to intervene then? Lonrari glared out at him from a dark corner of his mind. Coward! What if that was Anthalia screaming?

  The thought plagued him. Korius knew all too well what Veyrich was capable of: the Ves’Neryn had endured much at the general’s hands whilst still a cadet. Veyrich had hated him because he refused to break, or to become like him. It had cost Korius greatly. He had lost friends and family to the general’s dislike of him. The worst loss though had been Snowblossom. Would her ruined face and broken body ever cease to haunt him?

  There was another scream then. Whoever it was appeared to be trying not to cry. “Damn it all!” Korius flung the wine aside. “I cannot risk losing Anthalia too! I cannot! I shall not!”

  The screaming had taken on a panicked edge now, and whomever it was sounded as if they had begun to beg. He frowned as he realised that he could not place the language. It was not Anthiri, of that he was certain. Some human tongue, but Korius did not recognise it. That was odd, for he prided himself on his knowledge of languages. “Who have you gotten your vile hands on this time, Veyrich?”

  One day it will be Anthalia who screams.

  “Shut up, shut up, and shut up!” Korius clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes closed. “I cannot stand against him! He has forgotten about me and mine!”

  That is what he wants you to think. One day he will take her away from you. How easily do you suppose her wings shall snap when he does? As easily as poor Snowblossom’s once did? Shall you be able to block out her screams so easily? Can you face another funeral pyre?

  Korius dropped to his knees and sobbed.

  ∞∞∞

  Bandhir caught hold of Saylii by the arm and dragged her between two of the tents. “What was that Ullensian talking about just now? Why has Kaiwan been brought before the shamans?”

  The thin blonde woman whimpered. “He said that it was because she has a brother, sir: one of them is the Ca’Ryln and the shamans are to decide which it is!”

  “Yes, I heard all of that! But what is the Ca’Ryln? What does it mean?”

  “The Ca’Ryln is the one that shall stop the Vor’Barysk from destroying the world, sir. If ‘tis Kaiwan then she’s a very special one indeed, oh yes indeed she is!”

  “I see. Thank you, Saylii. That will be all for now.” Bandhir tossed the frightened veth’kyr aside and strode back to wait for Kaiwan outside the shamans’ tent. So the little maid may be even more of a prize than Naomi! Perhaps it would not be such a very bad thing to change my plans after all...

  He strained his ears to hear what was being said inside the tent. From what he could make out, the shamans were divided in their opinions. Half of them believed that Kaiwan was the Ca’Ryln, whilst the others were insisting that her brother, Kalios, was clearly the chosen one. Naikran and the other clan chiefs were suggesting various trials for the two to endure in order to determine the solution. Some were simple, others more complicated, but all appeared to be dangerous at the very least to those inv
olved. Walking through fire, besting monstrous creatures in combat, submersion in a sacred pool... do these Ullensians want their world’s champion to die before they can face the Vor’Barysk?

  Kaiwan spoke then. “Elders please, forgive me, but I see no point in this debate! I am not about to risk my life in a meaningless series of trials: I am the Ca’Ryln, and that is final. The seeress that told my guardians how to find me after my mother was murdered told them that if they did not find me then the world would end immediately. She made no mention of my even having a brother, although I admit that we do share a similar appearance. I would argue that Eltornius simply took the wrong child; after all, from what Kalios has said, it is obvious that the madness of the wyrms is strong in him.”

  “Are you calling me mad?” The second voice was high pitched: reedy and unpleasant upon the ear. “If you were not my twin, I should slay you where you sit!”

  “I meant that Eltornius is mad: to the best of my knowledge, you cannot be a wyrm! After all, you claim to be my brother, and I am human.”

  Kalios laughed bitterly then. “Oh, but you know so very little of it all, dear sister! Our late mother, Kyshaa was indeed Ullensian. However, our father was of the Ixran: a desert nomad named Davar. He was the half-blooded son of the silver wyrm of Nandor Keep herself: Sherni – the last surviving daughter of Eltornius and Shilafeggi! So you see, dear sister, the madness of the wyrms is very much our legacy. Just as much as the shadow of the restless dead is yours, for you were a wraithspawn: a stillbirth that came to life.”

  “If you seek to horrify me with your tales, Kalios, you shall fail. Slo’annathorys told me of how he put me to our mother’s dead breast for nourishment after he found me. The restless dead have no power over me. And if it is true that we are wyrmblooded, then so be it.”

  Bandhir cursed softly to himself in his own ancient tongue: Kaiwan was of the sands, just as he himself was! I gave her my oath that I would never do her harm. It would appear that I must honour our bargain after all.